


In A Field Of Flowers

by PouncySilverkitten



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Major character death - Freeform, Self-Hatred, Yasha Flashback, Yashback if you will, albeit very temporary, and blames herself, caleb’s coping mechanisms are... not the best, punching a tree, yasha misses zuala
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23785414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PouncySilverkitten/pseuds/PouncySilverkitten
Summary: Yasha returns home to her love, who sits weaving in a field of flowers.
Relationships: Yasha/Zuala (Critical Role)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	In A Field Of Flowers

Fourteen days, six hours, give or take.

Fourteen days, six hours since she’d last kissed her wife.

Fourteen days, six hours since she’d felt the softness of the field of wildflowers fade into the crunch of woodland.

Fourteen days, six hours since she’d made the promise.

“I just have to do this. Then we can be together.”

Fourteen days, six hours since she’d set out to win her future.

Nothing was said, of course. But the look in Sky Spear’s eyes had spoken volumes.

_Go and do this. Go and prove yourself. Go and win our approval, and when your mate is chosen, she will be Zuala._

And so she had kissed her wife and taken up her sword and left. Five days, trekking to the mouth of the cave system. Another day and a half infiltrating it, slowly and carefully. A fight to the death, three against one, against the tribeless aasimar encroaching on her tribe’s land. Three bodies hitting the soft dirt floor of the cave.

It would be hard, not telling Zuala. It would be harder not to tell Sky Spear, not to go to the leader’s hut hand in hand with Zuala and tell her it was done and in return to be told that they were mates.

But that wasn’t how their tribe worked, and Yasha would lie in her wife’s arms that night with the warm glow in her chest, the certainty that she had won their safety.

Fourteen days, six hours since she had left.

And now the flowers were soft against Yasha’s bare feet as she padded through the grass. There were all kinds of wildflowers in this special pocket of Xhorhas, and as she gently negotiated the field she could see the woman responsible in the distance.

Zuala.

Just the sight of her love’s dark hair was enough to make Yasha conscious of her heartbeat, and she broke into a run, all regard for the delicate stems beneath her thrown to the wind as her feet pounded the earth, every step bringing her closer to being reunited with her love once more.

As she got closer she could see mo _blue_ re of Zuala, her love leaning over a loom. Yasha could fill in the details she was too far away to see; hours of watching Zuala’s fingers deftly weaving fabric were more than enough to embed the motion deep into her mind, another fragment of her love that she could never forget.

Zuala raised her head, looking around as though Yasha’s love had called to her. Wordlessly, she stood and began running towards Yasha, the distance closing so fast after so long ap _blue_ art.

She ran faster now, disregarding the burn of her lungs and her legs, feeling only the burn of desire to be reunited with the woman she had lived in secret for so long, who she would finally be able to shout of her lo _blue_ ve for now that she had _blue_

She reached out to Zuala, calling to her, and Zuala called back. “Yasha!”

_Black_

_Blue_

_“Yasha!”_

_Black_

_Blue_

_“Jes?”_

_“It might take a minute.”_

_No. No. Not now._

_Blue_

_Black_

_Blue_

_Jester_

_Beau_

It took a minute for Yasha to realise she wasn’t saying anything, just mouthing _nononononononoo_.

“What’s she saying?”

“Hey, Yasha.” Caduceus’ voice was low and laid back and exactly the opposite of what she wanted.

The pain grew and grew as Yasha sat up and looked around. No flowers, no hut, no loom. Jester, Beau, Caduceus, Nott, Fjord, Frumpkin, Caleb, no Zuala _no no no no_

“...no no no no no no...”

“It’s okay, Yasha!” Jester took her hand. “It’s okay, see? You’re back, you’re fine!”

“That’s not it.” Caduceus said quietly and Yasha nearly whirled to hit him, imagining her fist stroking upwards and cracking off the firbolg’s jaw.

Instead she bolted, in a single smooth movement flowing from sitting with her knees pulled to her chest to running.

She ran, all regard for the mud of the battlefield under her feet thrown to the wind as her feet pounded the earth, every step mirrored by a pulse of pain searing through her.

_no no no no_

There was a tree, a big one, and she hit it, knuckles flaring with the impact, and then she hit it again. And again. “No-“ _crack_ “no-“ _crack_ “coward-“ _crack_ “useless-“ _crack_ “worthless-“ _crack_ “spineless-“ _crack_ “heartless-“ _crack_ “piece-“

The impact took her by surprise, but as she hit the ground and thrashed against the limbs suddenly wrapping around hers.

“Hey, Yasha. Quit it.”

“Get off me, Beau.” Yasha flexed, grunting, trying to break the circle of the monk’s arms around her that pinned her arms to her sides. Beau’s fingers flexed and pulled apart, then snapped back.

“Not unless you promise to stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Beau.”

“Then stop struggling!”

With a roar, Yasha bucked against her human backpack, and her wings burst out from her back, blasting Beau back off her and jack-knifing Yasha to her feet. She closed with the tree, closing her eyes and trying to summon an image of Sky Spear, the woman whose heartless green eyes who had condemned Zuala to death and Yasha to something worse.

Her fist smacked into rough bark, but in her mind’s eye it was ribs. An uppercut caught a pale white jaw with a black stripe, snapping the head back. Jab, kidney shot, and as the aasimar in front of her doubled over in pain Yasha brought her knee up to catch her in the chin, sending her reeling.

Mindless of her knuckles, she howled her pain, planting a knee in the chest of the prone aasimar, throwing punch after punch into the bloody mouth of her fallen imaginary foe.

“This-“ _crack_ “is-“ _crack_ “what-“ _crack_ “you-“ _crack_ “deserve-“ _crack_ and then the eyes below her opened and Yasha was staring into her own eyes, set in her own face.

“More.” The imaginary her hissed, and Yasha doubled down, landing punch after punch on the fallen tree she was kneeling over.

“Yasha.” Caleb’s voice was harsh and Yasha snapped her head around, opening her eyes to see the scruffy redhead closing on her, palm outstretched. She reached up to knock his arm away, but he grunted a few Zemnian words and Yasha felt an incredible weariness overcome her.

“Sleep now, Yasha.” He murmured, and as much as Yasha struggled she couldn’t resist the wave of exhaustion and she... faded... to... nothingness...

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be long. Lots of angst, lots of self-hatred, lots of unhealthy coping mechanisms. Buckle up, buttercups.
> 
> Edited to change the name of the Dolorov tribe’s matriarch to fit canon.


End file.
